


forget to worry

by ghosthunter



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Praise Kink, Under-negotiated Kink, fuzzy handcuffs, new to kink and feeling it out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-06 04:29:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19055251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghosthunter/pseuds/ghosthunter
Summary: All it takes is a look, a slight jerk of Miro’s chin, and Roope’s going home with Miro. He might be going back to Cedar Park in the morning, but he’s going to Miro’s tonight.





	forget to worry

**Author's Note:**

> a very merry unbirthday to k and thanks to m for beta

As soon as practice starts, Roope knows that he’s scratched. Again. And if he’s scratched again, it’s probably only a matter of time before he’s sent down. Again.

He takes a deep breath and pushes as hard as he can through morning skate, and through the extra work after. He doesn’t know how else he can prove to Monty that he’s good, that he’s good enough, that he wants to be there and be on the team and he’s willing to work his ass off for it. He’s one of the last guys off the ice, one of the last guys out of the room, and one of the last to leave the rink. It’s good, because it means he doesn’t have to talk to anyone about how much it fucking sucks.

Miro texts him in the early afternoon, asking if he wants to come by for a pre-game sleepover, but Roope doesn’t text him back because he’d rather be alone. Sure, he knows that Miro knows he saw the text, but he also knows that Miro won’t push.

At least, he doesn’t push until after the game, when it’s over and they’ve won and Roope is feeling particularly miserable and useless sitting in his stall in his suit and pretending like he’s happy for everyone else. It’s by accident that he meet’s Miro’s eyes.

All it takes is a look, a slight jerk of Miro’s chin, and Roope’s going home with Miro. He might be going back to Cedar Park in the morning, but he’s going to Miro’s tonight. Miro, who is always calm and quiet and confident and never has to worry about being healthy scratched or sent to Cedar Park to play in the A.

Roope follows Miro home like a lost puppy, even though Miro’s the younger of the two of them, and parks next to him in the garage of his apartment building. Miro’s tie is loose around his neck and his top button undone, Roope’s jacket discarded in the back seat of his car. As they walk toward the elevators to head up to Miro’s apartment, Miro’s hand brushes just barely across the back of Roope’s hand. If Roope didn’t know it was deliberate, something that Miro did to him all the time when they were in public and someone might see, he would think it was meaningless.

Once they’re inside Miro’s apartment, Miro locks the door behind them and leans in, pressing his lips to the soft space just below Roope’s ear. “You’re so beautiful,” he says, as a start. Roope closes his eyes, lets Miro run fingers through his hair. “You’re beautiful and you are good at hockey, whatever happens.”

“I’m getting sent down tomorrow,” Roope tells him. Miro pauses, like he doesn’t know what to do, looking at Roope’s face. Roope knows that Miro doesn’t like it when he says things like that, but sometimes he can’t stop himself.

Miro isn’t a dom. Not really. He’s nineteen, and he plays at it with Roope, but it’s not a real thing, not yet. He’ll be really good at it, one day, Roope can tell. But right now, he’s a little softer, a little more hesitant, and leaves Roope wondering if he’s ever as hard on himself as Roope is. If he were Roope’s dom for real, Roope thinks, he’d just forbid Roope from saying things like that about himself.

“No,” is what Miro says instead, because sometimes he falters giving Roope commands, even though Roope knows that he wants to. “You don’t know that,” he says. He doesn’t say, “don’t say that,” almost like he knows he doesn’t have the power to stop Roope, and both of them know he’d never actually punish Roope for it. He’s never stopped Roope from getting off, or anything like that.

“I do,” Roope tells him, dead serious, and Miro sighs at him, then leans in and kisses him. He’s slow and intense with it, his fingers still tangled in Roope’s hair. He kisses Roope until Roope’s hands start to tug at the waistband of his slacks, needing Miro to do more than just kiss him.

“Come on,” Miro finally says to him, pulling away from Roope and licking his lips. “Come with me.”

Roope follows him without question, down the hallway to the bedroom. Most of Miro’s apartment doesn’t look that lived in - it’s spotless, with the cleaning service coming every week, and without much decor, because Miro’s nineteen and just doesn’t care. Sure, he’s got video game systems scattered across the living room, but that’s about it. The kitchen’s clean and he doesn’t cook much, and the bedroom is the most lived-in room of the apartment.

The bedsheets always seem to be rumpled, and the headboard is some kind of fake iron, brushed metal bars. Roope’s not sure if Miro picked it out deliberately with sex in mind, but Roope thinks that Miro gets a thrill out of hooking Roope up to the bars and keeping his hands pinned down.

It’s them playing at bondage. Neither of them has the real experience, and no one to teach them. They could ask, but Roope thinks maybe he’d rather die, or never play in Dallas again, than ask one of the other doms or subs to show him what to do. Since it doesn’t seem like Miro has asked any of them into the bedroom to show them the - literal or figurative - ropes, Roope thinks maybe he feels the same way.

Or maybe he’s waiting until Roope is in Dallas full time. Maybe he’s waiting until they can learn together, take their time together. Roope’s not going to ask Miro about his feelings. Not today, not now. Not any time soon.

The handcuffs are stupid, furry things Roope bought as a joke, and then Miro picked up a second pair so that it was more comfortable to lock Roope’s hands down. Roope never meant for them to get as much use as they do - they’re not even metal, more like coated plastic. The silver coating has come off where Roope has pulled at them and made them rub. He never really fights against them, but sometimes they get pulled, slide along the rails and the paint flakes off. Roope finds flecks of silver glitter on his face and arms in the mornings, and it makes him smile.

“Do you want to handcuff me?” Roope asks. Miro moves across the room in the dark to turn on the lamp by the bed. The light is soft in the room, and Miro doesn’t answer while he focuses on undressing and putting his suit back on its hanger in his closet.

“Would that help you feel better?” he finally asks, his voice soft as he looks at Roope.

“I can think of a lot of things that would help,” Roope says, giving Miro a grin. Miro just rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, but are you just gonna come and then immediately go back to moping about hockey or what?” Miro asks. He’s stripped down to his underwear now, and Roope catalogs the parts of Miro he likes best - his thighs heavy with muscle, the flat plane of his stomach, his hands and the way his hair falls into his face. He files all of it away for when he’s back in Cedar Park and doesn’t have Miro at his fingertips.

“No promises,” Roope says, and shrugs.

“So here’s a new rule for the bedroom,” Miro says, tossing his hair out of his face and walking over to stand over Roope. To loom, which he doesn’t get to do much when he and Roope are both standing. “Absolutely none of this bullshit about how you’re not good enough.”

“Okay, well, if I were I - “

Miro presses his fingers to Roope’s mouth.

“No,” he says. “Shut up. My bedroom, my rules.” The order makes Roope hot all over, and he looks up at Miro, with Miro’s fingers still hot against his mouth. 

It’s just two of Miro’s fingers against his mouth, and he can’t help himself when he parts his lips and lets them slip inside. He runs his tongue over Miro’s skin, looking up at Miro through his lashes, watching the way his eyes get a little wider and his lips part with desire.

“You’re a menace,” he tells Roope, and pulls his fingers away from Roope’s mouth with a wet pop. “Take off your clothes.”

Roope stands up and strips out of his clothes, watching as Miro pulls the handcuffs out of his nightstand drawer. They’re stupid, but the fur is kind to Roope’s wrists, and he likes leopard print besides.

Miro is waiting beside the bed when Roope is naked, flushed with desire and awkward without knowing what he should be doing while he waits for Miro’s next order. Miro props the pillows against the headboard the way Roope likes, then turns back to Roope. Roope can see that he’s half hard in his underwear, probably from Roope sucking on his fingers, from the anticipation of what’s going to happen next.

“Get on the bed,” Miro says, his voice soft. “I’ll cuff you in.”

Roope climbs on the bed without a word and sits with his back against the pillows, his knees spread, and he holds his arms out. Miro climbs onto the bed and settles between Roope’s knees, leaning across him to click first one cuff into place, then the other. He scoots himself in, settling his knees beneath Roope’s thighs, letting Roope’s legs hook around his waist.

“I love you like this,” Miro says, trailing his fingers across Roope’s cheekbone, his jaw, his collarbone. He pinches one of Roope’s nipples to make him squirm, tugging against the handcuffs. “Because you’re all mine and I can do whatever I want.”

“Not whatever you want,” Roope says.

“Hush,” Miro says. “And I can tell you that all I want is for you to be here in Dallas playing hockey with me.” Miro tucks Roope’s hair back behind his ears, lets his fingers roam down Roope’s bare skin.

“Well, I’m not - “

Miro pinches him hard. “I said no,” he says. “I said no talking like that in my bedroom. “You are good. You’re so good. And if they don’t see that then you have to work harder and harder until they do. Because I want you here.”

“I want to be here,” Roope says. Miro bends down and presses his mouth to Roope’s, digs a hand into Roope’s hair and pulls until Roope’s head is pulled back, just at the edge of actual pain. Miro contorts his body until his mouth is on Roope’s neck then. He uses a lot of teeth. If Roope’s going back to Cedar Park, Miro’s apparently planning on sending him there with teeth marks all over his neck.

“You have to make them see how fast you are,” Miro tells him, he leaves one hand in Roope’s hair, but loosens his grip as he murmurs the words into Roope’s skin. “How fast you are, how well you can shoot, how well you can pass.”

Miro’s free hand is between his thighs now, his fingers teasing at Roope’s hole. He’s got the lube tossed on the bed next to him - Roope doesn’t remember him getting it out, but he knows that it lives in the drawer with the handcuffs. With the handcuffs and the vibrator and the butt plug and - 

Roope lets his head thump back against the metal rod of the headboard as Miro pushes the first finger into him. It’s not as satisfying as thumping his head against the headboard in his hotel room the last time Miro was there and fucked him.

“You know what you look like?” Miro asks, sitting there between Roope’s legs without a care in the world, two fingers deep and adding a third. “What do they say in romance novels? Some kind of god? Adonis? All that stupid fucking hair.”

“You asshole,” Roope whimpers, wheeze-laughing and unable to grind down against Miro’s hand with his arms trapped out to his side. Miro has the nerve to smirk at him.

“You know I think you’re beautiful,” Miro tells him, and bends his fingers just the way Roope likes, making him buck his hips up off the bed. “No, no,” Miro says when he does. “You have to stay still. Or I’m gonna get handcuffs for your feet, too.”

“Get pink fuzzy ones,” Roope says, still breathless.

“I bet you’d look incredible all spread-eagle on my bed,” Miro tells him, spreading his fingers apart, working them as deep as he can. Roope’s breath catches at the back of his throat. “At my mercy, you know. Then I could really see how long you can go before I let you come.”

“I don’t like that game,” Roope tells him.

“I think it’s fun,” Miro tells him, leaning in to catch Roope’s lip between his teeth, gentle. Roope grinds his hips into Miro’s hand the best he can manage, licking at Miro’s mouth. Miro has to let go of his lip to speak again. “You want me to fuck you?”

“Yes,” Roope says.

“Still cuffed?” Miro asks, sitting back on his heels, pulling his fingers out and making Roope groan underneath him. He’s still got his underwear on, but Roope can see Miro’s cock straining at the fabric, the dark, wet place near the head where he’s started to leak. Roope’s mouth waters, just a little.

“Yes,” Roope says. And then, “bare.”

That takes Miro a little by surprise, and Roope can see it in his face, the soft ‘o’ of his lips as they part. Roope asks for it because it’s messy, because Miro can make an even bigger mess of him that way. He knows that Miro is still wary of it, and he doesn’t blame him. It’s fair, and if Miro pushes back and wants the condom, Roope will do it, won’t ask again.

He watches Miro bite his lip, make the decision. Watches Miro push his underwear down off his hips until his cock his free, hard and ready. Roope tries to pull Miro in close using just his legs as Miro strokes lube down his own cock.

“No,” Miro tells him. “What did I tell you about getting cuffs for your ankles?”

Roope makes a totally unintelligible noise at him. Irritation, acknowledgement, need - whatever. Miro still teases him, brushing the head of his cock against Roope’s ass even though Roope’s ready to beg to be fucked - and maybe that’s what Miro wants, or expects, though he hasn’t explicitly said it.

“Please,” is all Roope finally says, and Miro leans forward, guiding himself in slow. Roope lets out a slow breath and breathes in again, trying to give himself a moment to adjust to the feeling of fullness he never gets from fingers - his or Miro’s - and never has when he’s alone because he’s too chicken shit to keep any toys around in his place in Cedar Park.

The feeling is good.

Miro wipes his hand on the sheet and reaches up, wrapping his fingers around the bar of the headboard just next to Roope’s head. The other hand, he buries in Roope’s hair as he rolls his hips, pulling back and then pushing forward just hard enough to make Roope groan underneath him. He’s slow at first, giving Roope the time to adjust to the sensation before he fucks him, using the headboard for leverage to thrust his hips hard against Roope’s body.

“Please let me come,” Roope manages to say, because he wants to or because he thinks he’s supposed to or because he just wants Miro’s hand on his dick, the words coming out stuttered.

Miro’s whispering that he’s gorgeous again as he lets go of the headboard - never Roope’s hair - to jerk him off, and Roope comes easy with Miro’s name on his tongue. Roope goes limp in the handcuffs with his own come streaked across his stomach and chest, leaving Miro to get himself off using Roope’s body, until he’s coming, breathless, grabbing the headboard with one messy hand.

The only sound in the room is their breathing for the few moments it takes to catch their breath, after. Then Miro pulls out and gets up, heading for the bathroom, leaving Roope there alone with his thoughts and the come dripping down the crack of his ass.

Miro’s naked when he comes back to climb on the bed, wiping come off Roope’s come off his chest and stomach first before cleaning his own from between Roope’s thighs. He tosses the cloth in the direction of the hamper before kissing Roope softly.

“You’re so good,” he says. “You’re always so good for me.”

Roope makes a soft noise of agreement, stuck somewhere in the haze of his orgasm, in limbo somewhere between the real world and subspace. He blinks up at Miro as his left hand comes unlocked, as Miro’s fingers rub across his wrists. Roope doesn’t struggle much against the handcuffs, so he’s not really hurt, but Miro takes care of him anyway.

His right hand is next, and Miro helps him stretch out in the bed, then stretches out next to him, stroking his hand through Roope’s hair.

“So good,” Miro murmurs to him. “You like to talk back but you’re never bad, are you? You never make me have to punish you.”

Roope wants to, one day, he thinks. He’s torn, because he loves to hear how good he is. It eases the pain of not feeling like he’s good enough on the ice, even the slightest bit.

Miro keeps petting his hair and whispering to him. He’s not allowed to talk about how he’s not good enough, and he doesn’t want to think about it right now, either.

**Author's Note:**

> on twitter @notedgoon


End file.
